


such an aggravation

by werewolfe



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Gen, i could not suck at this less okay, i literally cannot think of a single thing to tag this with, so if u have any suggestions plz let me know thx, um
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-27 01:34:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9944465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/werewolfe/pseuds/werewolfe
Summary: In a way, Mikey had always envied them.(title from a Sum 41 song this time, because they -almost- got me thru high school).





	

**Author's Note:**

> heyhey, haha, this is shit also woops i'm projecting

In a way, Mikey had always envied them. Frank knew, from the very fucking start of his life, that he wanted to be in bands, play music, _create_. And Ray, God, that dude was probably shredding straight outta the womb. Gee’s the same. Their entire lives, all he’d ever talk about was being an artist. Writing comic books. Changing the world through his art. It sounds pretentious, but if anyone could do it, Gerard could. He was destined for greatness, marked from birth. He had pictures and sounds and _ideas_ flowing through his mind and his veins all the time, all along. No one amazed Mikey more than his own brother, and fuck if Mikey didn’t believe him.

But Mikey... Mikey was different. Sure, music is his fucking life _now_ , but if you had asked him a couple years ago (which, he was asked, by the way, frequently, all the way through high school, honestly fuck that shit, he was still fuckin’ frustrated by it) he woulda shrugged and asked if you’d heard the latest Tool record. He never had that, that _drive_. That ever-present passion that directed him where to go. He never wanted anything so badly that he couldn’t do anything else, not all his life, and it took him so fucking long to find it. Even then it was on a whim, he was just following Gee’s lead. He’d always fuckin’ loved music, bands, fuckin’ rock’n’roll. And, yeah, of course he’d had that fantasy; him, his big brother at his side, guitar his weapon, changing lives. But it was never a goal, a need. Honestly, he never fucking thought he _could_. And, like, would he even want to?

Then, all-of-a-fucking-sudden, Gee was asking him, and that was it, all or nothing. Because his brother could do _anything_. And suddenly, learning a fucking instrument, which had seemed _impossible_ before, was fucking easy, worth it, like, _woah, where did all this fucking_ motivation _come from?_ He’d never cared about anything so much in his _life_ before this. In a way, even though it’s fucking awful, 9/11 was one of the best fucking things to ever happen to him. It’s ironic, in a way (and not the funny kind); this fucking _tragedy_ had just happened, so many people had died, and Mikey had never felt more _alive_. (Sometimes the guilt from thinking/feeling something so horrible tore him apart inside, he’d never tell a single soul).

But the thing is, he remembers what it felt like. This constant lack of motivation that led to these depressive episodes of _why the fuck am I even here? What is the POINT?_ All the doubt and guilt and frustration. This _fear_ of expectation that never really went away. That constant soul-crushing want to just... _want_ ; to have a _path_. All this obsessing over _destiny_ and _why them and not me?_ It was constant teen-angst/self-pity _bullshit_ that made him wanna fucking shoot himself, be an even bigger fucking cliche. It _ached_ in a way that he could never describe; he was never fucking good with words anyway.

He wonders... if he could erase it, change it, all that bullshit, and have _music_ be there all along - would he? It’s hard to say now, here, in these times. Maybe he wouldn’t love it as much, care as much, if he didn’t know what it was like to be without. He’s so fucking grateful he found it, _this_. Mikey doesn’t think he even knew how to _love_ before this life, the one where he’s fulfilled, and yet longing all at the same time. Hell, Mikey’s pretty sure he wasn’t even fucking _living_ before this. There’s nothing in the world as liberating as the discovery that you can do literally whatever the _fuck_ you fucking _want_. Wouldn’t trade it for the fucking world. He thinks that he’s okay, now. There’s nothing to wish for anymore, he’s got it. God, okay, this train of thought is getting way too fucking cheesy. He shakes himself out of it, turns over, and sleeps easy.


End file.
